her test. I understand her father owns all the gold mines in Alaska.
Oh, Martell! Auburn remarked, a little scornfully, Ambrose thought.
Extricating himself from this circle, he joined Wilhelmina.
I hate waiting for people, were her first words.
I'm sorry, he apologized as he seated himself opposite her. I've been here for some time.
Talking to Auburn Six. I know. You didn't sena me any orchids, she went on abruptly.
I'm sorry, he said again. I didn't . . . He could feel that his face was scarlet.
Wilhelmina smiled. Why, you're blushing like a baby, Ambrose, she said. I can't scold you. It's too easy. Anyway you ought to be congratulated this morning. Everybody on the lot is talking about Spider Boy.
But it isn't written yet! Ambrose cried in desperation.
Are you quite sure? she demanded.
I ought to be.
But Griesheimer's been telling every one it's a masterpiece. How clever of you to lay it under a big top!
Big top?
